Glad you reached out to me with your question. Are you personally going through something like this or have a friend who is?
My oncologist won't use the word remission for 5 years. Until then, we simply say that I've successfully completed treatment and have had clean scans. My first truly clean scan came in December of last year. I've had 4 or 5 clean scans since then, but the cloud of worry always follows you around.
Imerman's Angels - I learned of them through a chat room, of all things, when I reached out to a girl who'd commented on being a 3 year Hodgkins survivor following a stem cell transplant. She recommended Imerman's Angels. I originally called to offer myself as a resource for people who were going through treatment. Then, I realized I needed their services to help learn to live after treatment. I spoke directly with Jonny Imerman for about 45 minutes. He got me in touch with someone who's situation was similiar to mine (stage of cancer, type of cancer, treatment, age).
They provide a fabulous service to people who've had or have taken care of cancer patients.
Getting cancer is a strange thing. The minute you get the diagnosis, I think two things happen instinctually: 1. you have this overwhelming desire to beat it 2. fear, worry and anxiety take over and consume you.
People genuinely want to help. Most do, at least. You learn very quickly who your friends are and who they are not - you learn you had friends you never knew of.
We had no family close by and two very young children. People made us a lot of meals. It was appreciated but unnecessary. Our daughter was a newborn, she ate from a bottle. Our son was two and could eat off our plates if needed.
What I really needed was for people to want to be with me. I needed people to take me to a place of relative normalcy and either take me away from the world of wigs and side effects, or I needed to be able to talk about it. My husband carried the majority of the burden of being a parent and a caregiver to me, and most of the stress that accompanied both (with the possibility of losing his wife). He needed someone to offer to take the kids and to give him a few minutes of reprieve.
That was probably the biggest saving grace - we had several neighbors and friends who'd either come over and make us doing something together, or who'd take the kids to their house, so I could rest, and my husband could try to collect himself.
Normalcy: that's tough. Life takes on a new normal. Most of us lose our hair, so you have to deal with the time it takes for it to come back in and the possible differences from what your norm was. Mine came in the same. It's still short, a year later, but I've gotten accustomed to it. Your body is different from the chemo drugs or the radiation (I only received chemo). Most patients gain weight during chemo because of all the steroids they pump into you, so you're left with a healthy but fat body, and possibly the lack of energy to be able to address it.
The two biggest changes for me were my memory and my increased anxiety. Chemo brain is a real phenomenon and wreaks havoc on your short term memory. I honestly can't remember small tasks or conversations I had with my husband 5 minutes ago. People think life will be roses and sunshine when you've beaten cancer, and in many ways it is. But, everytime there's something wrong (headaches, gas, swollen knees), you panic and worry if it's back and has spread. You speak in terms like, "For now".
The biggest difference is that I put more of an emphasis on my family. They were my motivation for enduring chemo and beating this beast. Even when we're dealing with toddler tantrums (which happens often in my family), I always make sure my kids know how much I love them and squeeze them a little tighter when I hug them.
Life is, after all, ALL about the people you spend it with.
Comment Reply
Alison-
Glad you reached out to me with your question. Are you personally going through something like this or have a friend who is?
My oncologist won't use the word remission for 5 years. Until then, we simply say that I've successfully completed treatment and have had clean scans. My first truly clean scan came in December of last year. I've had 4 or 5 clean scans since then, but the cloud of worry always follows you around.
Imerman's Angels - I learned of them through a chat room, of all things, when I reached out to a girl who'd commented on being a 3 year Hodgkins survivor following a stem cell transplant. She recommended Imerman's Angels. I originally called to offer myself as a resource for people who were going through treatment. Then, I realized I needed their services to help learn to live after treatment. I spoke directly with Jonny Imerman for about 45 minutes. He got me in touch with someone who's situation was similiar to mine (stage of cancer, type of cancer, treatment, age).
They provide a fabulous service to people who've had or have taken care of cancer patients.
Getting cancer is a strange thing. The minute you get the diagnosis, I think two things happen instinctually: 1. you have this overwhelming desire to beat it 2. fear, worry and anxiety take over and consume you.
People genuinely want to help. Most do, at least. You learn very quickly who your friends are and who they are not - you learn you had friends you never knew of.
We had no family close by and two very young children. People made us a lot of meals. It was appreciated but unnecessary. Our daughter was a newborn, she ate from a bottle. Our son was two and could eat off our plates if needed.
What I really needed was for people to want to be with me. I needed people to take me to a place of relative normalcy and either take me away from the world of wigs and side effects, or I needed to be able to talk about it. My husband carried the majority of the burden of being a parent and a caregiver to me, and most of the stress that accompanied both (with the possibility of losing his wife). He needed someone to offer to take the kids and to give him a few minutes of reprieve.
That was probably the biggest saving grace - we had several neighbors and friends who'd either come over and make us doing something together, or who'd take the kids to their house, so I could rest, and my husband could try to collect himself.
Normalcy: that's tough. Life takes on a new normal. Most of us lose our hair, so you have to deal with the time it takes for it to come back in and the possible differences from what your norm was. Mine came in the same. It's still short, a year later, but I've gotten accustomed to it. Your body is different from the chemo drugs or the radiation (I only received chemo). Most patients gain weight during chemo because of all the steroids they pump into you, so you're left with a healthy but fat body, and possibly the lack of energy to be able to address it.
The two biggest changes for me were my memory and my increased anxiety. Chemo brain is a real phenomenon and wreaks havoc on your short term memory. I honestly can't remember small tasks or conversations I had with my husband 5 minutes ago. People think life will be roses and sunshine when you've beaten cancer, and in many ways it is. But, everytime there's something wrong (headaches, gas, swollen knees), you panic and worry if it's back and has spread. You speak in terms like, "For now".
The biggest difference is that I put more of an emphasis on my family. They were my motivation for enduring chemo and beating this beast. Even when we're dealing with toddler tantrums (which happens often in my family), I always make sure my kids know how much I love them and squeeze them a little tighter when I hug them.
Life is, after all, ALL about the people you spend it with.
December 18, 2009 - 6:37amThis Comment
Reply